


Trust

by wantyoumorethanbreathing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Comforting Castiel, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nervous Dean, Praise Kink, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wantyoumorethanbreathing/pseuds/wantyoumorethanbreathing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hockey AU - Dean and Cas meet at state hockey trials and there's an instant spark between the two, but Dean's too worried about what people might say to do anything about it. Things soon heat up however, when Coach Singer introduces a trust building exercise at practice one day, leading Dean to acknowledge and embrace his submissive side, placing his trust in Cas' more than capable hands. Sexytime ensues.</p><p>Warning: Very brief mentions of violence and some derogatory name calling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Hockey AU for a friend who was lamenting the fact that the hockey fic she wanted to read didn't exist. I took the request and ran with it. I'm not a hockey fan myself (What! You're a Canadian who doesn't like hockey!! Scandalous I know.) so I apologise for any glaringly obvious hockey related mistakes. All spelling/grammar errors are also solely my own.

Dean lent forward, Metallica blazing in his ears as he reached down to lace his skate. He tried to keep his mind on the music, letting it pump him up, work its way into his veins, trying not to think too much about the upcoming tryout. He was more worried about it then he would let himself admit, and he focused instead on making sure his laces were tight, electric guitar bleeding though the cheap headphones into his preoccupied skull. 

He knew he shouldn’t be worried, knew he was the best skater in the district, but his skin tingled with anticipation none the less. This was his big break after all, his ticket to the big times and he couldn’t afford to screw it up. He’s made enough of a mess with the rest of his life, he needed this to get things turned around, get back on the right track. He cranked the volume up a few more notches and stood, taking a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. 

He’d gotten to the rink early, way before trials were due to start, wanting to get in a few hours practice before the rest of the hopefuls showed up. He made his way through the dressing room, shoving his iPod into his locker on the way past, grabbing his stick and gloves as he went. The balance of blades under his feet gave him a boost of confidence, adrenaline pumping though his veins as it always did when he approached the ice. He fitted the gloves over his fingers, pushing the gate open, ready to step out onto the deserted rink when something caught his eye. 

The ice wasn’t as empty as he had thought it would be, the figure at the other end of the rink coming out of a graceful jump and landing on the ice with practiced precision, lifting a leg and gliding backwards a few paces. Dean hesitated, his hand on the boards as he watched the man skate backwards, twisting his body this way and that, arms raised in a graceful arch. The other man turned suddenly, skating a few feet before catching sight of Dean at the other end of the rink. His steps faltered but he quickly regained his balance, stopping a little ways from the far end of the ice. Even from a distance Dean could see him flush crimson, his entire face turning red, embarrassment spreading up past his hairline.

“Sorry” Dean shouted, “I didn’t think anyone else would be here.” 

He stepped out onto the ice, pulling the door in the boards shut behind him, skating over to where the stranger was still standing, picking nervously at the hem of his sweater. Dean came to a stop a little ways from the other man, sending a shower of ice into the air as he braked.

"Don't worry about it," the other replied as Dean looked him over in curiosity.

The blush was fading from his face and a pair of bright blue eyes surveyed Dean from beneath a shock of dark hair, the fringe lying over his forehead soaked with sweat. Dean smiled and stuck out his hand, offering up a handshake and the other man chuckled. Dean, realizing he was still wearing his gloves, pulled them off hastily, a blush darkening his own cheeks and tried again. 

"I'm Dean," he offered, a crooked smile playing on his features.

"Castiel," the other replied, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it with a firmer grip then Dean had been expecting. "But everyone calls me Cas," he continued, returning the coy smile with one of his own.

"I really am sorry about disturbing you," Dean started, letting Castiels hand drop. "They're holding trials for the state hockey team later this morning and I wanted to get in a few hours practice before the rest of the crowd showed up."

"Oh I know," Castiel said, grinning at him. "I'm trying out too."

"You play hockey?" Dean asked, surprised.

After the display he'd just witnessed it was hard to believe the slender man standing in front of him, who had just done a jump reminiscent of something out of Olympic figure skating, could possibly play the same sport as he did. 

Dean raked his eyes over the lean figure again, taking in the baggy sweater which he supposed (though very much doubted) could be hiding some kind of muscle. His legs certainly looked toned enough, but you could get that from any kind of skating Dean reasoned, figure or otherwise. The eyes that looked back at him were too big and innocent, the startling intensity of blue irises throwing him off. There was _no way_ this guy played hockey. He looked too much like a porcelain doll to be playing any kind of contact sport. Dean tried to imagine body checking him into the boards, but found he couldn't. 

"Yeah," Cas replied, smiling at Dean as the other lifted his head and met his eye. "I've been skating my whole life. I always wanted to do figure skating but my parents wouldn’t let me. Dad said it was too girly so he put me in hockey instead." 

Cas flushed again as Dean looked at him, a strange intensity in his eyes, but it wasn't the same deep crimson as before. His cheeks were tinted a light rosy pink and Dean couldn't help thinking it was a good colour on him. He shook his head slightly to clear it, wondering vaguely where that thought had come from.

"You'd have been great at figure skating," Dean said, the words rushing out of his mouth before he could stop them. He could feel the tell-tale heat crawling back up his neck as Cas beamed and he made to turn, words tumbling out of his mouth like a wave. "Well, don't let me distract you from what you were doing," he said, pushing his fingers back into the glove he'd been holding. He saw Castiel shake his head out of the corner of his eye and he looked back over his shoulder.

"No it’s fine," Cas said, "I should probably go put my gear on. I'm sure we can't be the only ones who will want some extra practice time." He pushed off, gliding past Dean only to turn around part-way past, smile still splayed on his porcelain features. "We should run drills together when I get back. It's always easier with two." 

He watched Dean nod his head then turned back towards the far side of the rink. Dean watched him cross the ice until he disappeared into the gap between the bleachers, the dressing room door slamming loudly in the sudden quiet. He laughed to himself, shaking his head as he went off in search of a puck. He tried to imagine Cas’ thin frame in oversized equipment but couldn't get the image to stick.

...

When Cas emerged from the dressing room a few minutes later Dean had to admit he did look a little more intimidating. His top half was flushed out with padding giving the impression of hulking muscles but his legs still looked too thin, even encased in his shin guards. He stepped out onto the ice, chin strap undone and dangling around his neck, clutching his sick in a gloved hand. He grinned at Dean as he skated over and Dean couldn't help smiling back. There was something about this kid, he thought to himself, shaking his head again.

"You ready?" Cas asked, coming to a stop near Dean. Dean shot the puck in his direction in response and the two were soon shredding up the ice as they passed the disk back and forth, weaving around each other. Cas took a shot on goal and Dean had to admit he wasn't bad. The puck found its mark and Cas turned toward him, arms raised in mock victory and Dean laughed. 

They continued in much the same way for the next hour, getting more physical as they tested and pushed each other, discovering strengths and weaknesses, the mood remaining light. Dean hit the puck in Cas’ general direction following it with his eyes and then letting them trail up the figure that went lunging after it.

Feeling suddenly brave and a tad bit reckless, Dean watched as Cas crossed the rink, skating towards the puck Dean had just launched his way. He picked up his speed, skating hard towards the other man and lined his body up to hit Cas full on, sending the shorter man careening into the boards, Dean with him.

Cas’ breath was knocked out of him in surprise at the impact and he grunted as his hip came into contact with the side of the rink. A flicker of aggression passed through him and he turned, ready to shove Dean off and dive for the puck when he caught sight of Dean’s face. There was something burning in his emerald eyes but it certainly wasn’t aggression. Cas’ breath hitched in his throat and the fight went out of him, body going limp and pliant as his back settled against the boards, Dean pressed up close. 

The two breathed hard, breathless after an intense practice, neither of them moving. Cas could feel the edge of the boards against his back through the padding but he didn’t care, too preoccupied with Dean’s weight pressed against his front. He made the mistake of looking up at Dean through his lashes, green eyes pinning him in place (not that he was going anywhere). Cas swallowed thickly and his lips parted slightly, Dean’s eyes dropping to his mouth as they did. Then slowly, Dean’s leg planted between his own moved, pressing up into Cas through the padded material of his pants. Cas sucked in a sharp breath, pushing back against the pressure between his legs. There was movement behind them, the sound of the locker room door opening as another hopeful candidate came through the bleachers towards the ice.

Dean was off him like he’d been hit by lightning, face glowing red, keeping his back to the newcomer and Cas sagged, hands clutching the boards to keep himself upright, staring at Dean with eyes blown wide. 

The new arrival stepped onto the ice, swinging himself up and over the boards, seemingly unaware that anything had just occurred between the two men already on the rink. He skated over, introduced himself as Adam and took in Deans red face with a bit of a frown. Dean nodded his head in Adam’s direction, not trusting himself to speak, sure his voice would be a few octaves lower than normal. Cas pushed himself away from the boards, introducing them both and the three spent the next while skating around the rink, passing the puck back and forth between them. Cas tried to catch Deans eye, questions hanging unanswered on his lips, mind racing with curiosity, but Dean seemed to be looking anywhere but at him.

Over the next hour or so more and more people began to file into the rink, most onto the ice but several filtering into the stands to watch the tryouts. Cas looked around, searching for anyone he recognised, unsurprised that none of his brothers had shown. He hadn’t really been expecting them to turn up but he was still disappointed. It was as he was searching the stands, face betraying his emotion as it usually did, that he caught Dean looking at him from a little ways away.

They had stopped practice, waiting for the head coach to arrive and start the trials and were all sitting on the bench or lounging against the boards. He met Dean’s eye and the same intensity he’d noticed earlier was reflected back at him. They stared at each other for the length of a heartbeat, two, and then Dean turned away, someone calling his name. Curiosity turned Cas’ head and he saw a tall youth shuffling along the stands, smiling and waving, a pretty blonde following him. Dean waved back, a smile spread across his lips. 

“Alright listen up ladies,” a voice rang out over the arena and Dean turned back towards the ice, stealing a glance at Cas as he turned his head. Bobby Singer, head coach of the Kansas Demons, made his way towards them across the ice. He took a roster of everyone’s names, noting the positions they were trying out for and then divided them all into groups of six, throwing a bag of brightly coloured pinnies to each team. Dean fitted the revolting blue mesh over his head, smoothing it down as he stepped out onto the ice with the rest of his teammates.

He was almost painfully aware of Cas’ eyes on the back of his neck as he skated to the middle of the rink for the puck drop. He could hear Sam and Jess cheering loudly from the stands and he glanced up, taking a steadying breath, nerves playing up again. As soon as the puck hit the ice however his brain seemed to shut off, letting his body take over, the skill he’d been honing all his life kicking in.

It was obvious in the first few minutes which of the kids were just there for kicks, those with any real skill skating circles around them, putting them to shame. Coach Singer slowly substituted them out, alternating between drills and scrimmage, putting them through their paces. Dean watched as Cas skated gracefully around a line of cones on the ice, noting the change in stature as he came up against opponents in the second wave of scrummage, a look of aggression taking up residence in his eyes. 

As the number of hopeful candidates dwindled ever downwards and the scrimmage teams were mixed and meshed together, Dean noted with a deep-seated kind of pleasure just how easy it was to play with Cas. The two quickly picked up a rhythm, falling in sync with each other, Dean skating harder than he had in a long time. The day wore on and their numbers continued to fall until there were about two dozen players left on the rink, most of the rejects having gone home or joined the spectators in the stands.

“Congratulations,” Bobby said eventually, the whistle that signalled the end of the final scrimmage ringing out shrilly in the arena. He eyed the successful few remaining on the ice with a mixture of satisfaction and vague apprehension. “You’ve made the team,” he continued, “but just because you’re still standing, or sitting,” he said, casing a glance behind him towards the bench, “doesn’t mean you should go out and celebrate like a bunch of teenage girls at their first party. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we hope to score any goals this season. You boys need to be whipped into shape, so I expect you all here bright and early tomorrow morning for practice. Seven o’clock sharp ya hear?” 

There was a general murmur of acknowledgement from the boys and Bobby nodded his head curtly, scooping up his clipboard and stalking off to the office to begin the paperwork. He only made it a few paces before one of the new recruits let out a whoop, jumping to his feet and punching the air in triumph. The chorus was soon picked up by the others, everyone standing and congratulating one another in excitement, cheers and shouts flowing down from the stands. Dean could hear Sam and Jess yelling happily from somewhere behind him, words of support and enthusiasm washing over the ice like a tidal wave, but he was too busy staring down the bench at Cas to turn around. He grinned, a Cheshire cat smile plastered on his face. Cas beamed back.

...

The next few months passed in a blur, practices and games flowing into one another. The team got stronger with each passing day but Bobby still wasn't happy with the boys progress. They'd won a few games, mainly the result of dumb luck and the skill of a few choice players, but the team as a whole needed a great deal of improvement. It wasn't that they were bad per say, but they didn't trust each other. He'd seen the training exercise on TV one night and decided to try it out on the boys at practice the next day.

They’d been on the road for two weeks, games and practices intermingled with cheap motel rooms and substandard meals. Bad nights on decrepit mattresses and a losing streak that had lasted longer than they’d expected had the boys in bad spirits but they perked up somewhat with curiosity as they walked into the gym the following morning, one of their designated fitness days, and were greeted by the sight of Coach Singer holding a bag loosely in his hand, a Rubbermaid container at his feet. There was a mixed response as they gathered round, the multicolored dodgeballs in the tub causing some to shout in excitement, others groaning as memories of gym class came flooding back. 

“Alright, listen up ladies,” Bobby began, calling the boys to attention, “today is all about team work. You boys have some serious skill, there’s no doubt about it,” there was a general mummer of agreement, “but we’re still sitting at the bottom of the league because you idjits can’t seem to trust each other long enough to do any real damage. So today we’re gonna be working on building trust and breaking whatever idiotic trust issues you boys seem to have.” 

He overturned the tub with his foot, dodgeballs rolling out and across the floor in every direction. Some of the boys made to go after them but Coach Signer raised his voice and they turned back guiltily.

“Before you go just whacking each other in the head, which would of course defeat the whole point of a _team building_ exercise,” some of them snickered, Dean turning around to catch Cas’ eye, a smile passing between them, “you may want to hear the rest of the rules first,” Bobby finished, looking around meaningfully at the guilty faces. “Now I want you all to pair off, find the person you need to trust most on the ice. I don’t care how well you get along in the dressing room; as soon as you’re on the ice the only rivalries I should be seeing should be between you and the other team."

"This team is your family," Bobby continued, looking around at them all, "both on and off the ice, and if you hope to drag your sorry asses anywhere near the finals you’re gonna have to start trusting one another. When you’ve found your partner, one of you come and get a pair of goggles,” he held up the bag and reached in, pulling out a pair of ordinary swim goggles; ordinary except for the fact that the eyes had been blacked out with duct tape.

“Welcome to blind dodgeball,” he finished, the smile on his lips looking more than a little ominous. 

The boys took off, volume increasing as they went off in search of a partner and Dean spun around on his heel, turning to face Cas who stood a little ways behind him, smile drawing up the corners of his lips. 

“Howdy partner,” Dean said in a southern drawl, sauntering towards Cas with his best cowboy impression, thumbs stuck in the waistband of his shorts. Cas chuckled and rolled his eyes, Dean grinning as he came to a stop a few feet away. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Cas said, which only succeeded in making Dean grin wider.

Cas let out a small sigh of amusement and then stopped abruptly as Dean raked his eyes over his chest, the shiny white assistant’s ‘A’ standing out prominently on his new workout gear, mirroring the ‘C’ on Deans Capitan uniform. Cas could feel his ears getting hot as Dean looked at him hungrily, and he hastily cleared his throat and started off towards the middle of the gym where Bobby had deposited the bag. 

“I’ll get the goggles then shall I,” he asked, not waiting for a reply. He heard Dean chuckle under his breath and quickened his pace. 

Cas had to admit he was really quite pleased with how well he was managing to keep his somewhat problematic blush under control around Dean. It had been hard the first few weeks, the way Dean looked at him making his skin ignite, but he’d managed to gain some control over it after a while. There hadn’t been any more _moments_ between the two of them since that day at trials but there had been more than enough heated glances and slightly less than casual remarks when the two of them were alone to keep Cas interested. Dean’s gaze, off the ice, held an almost constant spark of flirtation but when he’d tried to initiate some flirting of his own Dean had dropped his eyes and gone suddenly quiet. After a few more failed attempts Cas had backed off, knowing full well what Dean was doing, but not wanting to push.

He was only too familiar with the niggling fear that had taken up residence in the base of Deans gut. The fear of societal and familial rejection, tinged with a constant hunger he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried or how many naked girls he forced himself to look at on the internet. He would have backed off entirely had it not been for the obvious interest written all over Deans face. Cas wanted to help but Dean wouldn’t let him, so Cas had decided to play along instead.

Once all the goggles had disappeared and the boys were standing in pairs Bobby split them into two teams, giving them a moment to get organised.

“Now the rules should be easy enough to understand. It’s dodgeball so dodge the ball. One of you will be blind so you’re gonna have to work together as a team. Keep hold of each other at all times. If either of you lets go you’re out. Clear?” He waited until everyone had shown some kind of acknowledgement and then moved off to the side of the gym. 

Cas fitted the goggles down over his eyes and darkness descended upon him.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” he heard Dean asked from somewhere to his left.

“Knowing you, probably the two middle ones,” Cas replied, and Dean laughed as he tried to adjust to the lack of vision.

The whistle blew suddenly and Cas threw his arms out in front of him like some kind of deranged sleepwalker, waving his arms around wildly in front of his face.

“Calm down,” Dean laughed as he brought his hands up to Cas’ shoulders. 

Chaos erupted around them as everyone started running off in different direction, shouts of “go forward,” - “he’s right in front of you man!” - “dude, _listen_ to what I’m saying,” filled the air as balls went flying every which way. 

“Tell me what to do!” Cas yelled, still waving his arms around frantically, pitching forward blindly as Dean tried to keep hold of his shirt.

It was obvious in the first few moments that hands on shoulders was not going to work. Dean stumbled along behind Cas as he careened sightlessly forward, almost knocking into Gabriel and Chuck as they went past in the opposite direction. 

“Cas hold up,” Dean laughed but Cas ignored him, too intent on trying not to fall over. Dean slid his hands down Cas’ back and felt the shorter man still as his hands came to rest on his waist. A shiver ran through Castiel and radiated back into Dean, the game suddenly taking on a much more interesting edge.

“Tell me what to do,” Cas repeated, his voice suddenly low and husky, the frantic waving of his arms stopping as he dropped them abruptly. 

“Umm,” Dean started, clearing his throat and trying to work his way past the sudden surge of power and arousal that had flooded his mind and made his brain go fuzzy. “Umm, go forward a few paces.”

Cas shuffled forward, feeling Dean’s hands tighten on his waist, a thrill shooting through him. 

“Ok stop. There’s a ball right in front of you.”

Cas bent down, feeling around on the ground until he his fingers caught the edge of the dodgeball. He snatched it up and stood, sticking his ass out a little more than necessary as he did so. He heard Dean suck in a sharp breath behind him and smiled a small smile to himself. 

“Tell me where to aim Dean,” Cas ordered, deciding the time had come to take matters into his own hands. 

Dean’s throat felt a little tighter than usual as he replied, pointing Cas’ arm in the right direction when he almost threw the completely opposite way of Dean’s verbal indication. 

“Did I get him?” Cas shouted, the childlike glee that radiated from him when he got excited suddenly bursting out, breaking the tension. Dean laughed as he resettled his hand on Cas’ hip, the mood suddenly much lighter though the magnetic pull between them lingered. 

“Not even close.”

They spent the next ten minutes running wildly around the gym laughing their asses off, trying with little success to hit any of their targets on the other side of the room. The whistle blew and Cas leaned back into Dean slightly, breathing through his laughter. Dean let his hands linger on Cas’ waist a little longer than necessary before dropping them and allowing Cas to turn. The goggles came off and Dean watched with interest as Cas’ pupils constricted in the light, the initial image of pupils blown wide inside blue irises imprinting itself on Deans brain. 

“Alright,” Bobby called out to the group, a hint of amusement in his tone as the boys all laughed and tried to catch their breath, “take a minute and then we’re gonna switch.”

Cas handed over the goggles and Dean worked the band over and around his head, lowering them to cover his eyes. He stuck his arms out and waved them around madly, imitating Cas who snorted and bit out a playful “jerk.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how many fingers you’re holding up?” Dean asked, letting his arms sink back down to his sides while a grin plastered itself across his face.

“I don’t have to dumbass, I was just wearing that _exact_ same pair of goggles. I know you can’t see shit.”

Dean laughed again as the whistle blew, signalling the start of play, but it died quickly on his lips as he felt Cas’ hands slither around his waist. Slither was really the only word for it; there was too much cunning behind the touch for it to be called anything else. Dean shivered as he felt Cas’ fingers slide over his hip bones, the realisation of just how dark it was with the goggles on stirring up something near the base of his spine. 

“Move,’ Cas said, voice sounding far nearer his ear than Dean had been expecting. A kink he hadn’t realised he had suddenly emerged, fully formed and demanding as Cas’ fingers tightened minutely on his hip. Dean swallowed thickly and did as he was told, stepping forward a few paces at Castiel’s direction. 

Some part of his brain marvelled at how easy it was for him to give up control to Cas, allowing himself to be ordered about, and Cas was definitely ordering, the authority in his voice unmistakable. Another part of his brain screamed at him, demanding to know just what the hell he thought he was doing, and why was he allowing himself to submit so willingly (his skin tingling at the word). The screaming was silenced abruptly with the touch of Cas’ hand along his skin, his shirt riding up a little as they scurried sideways. The rest of his brain was just too blissed out to care, a small part of it noting that there was a lot less laughter this time round.

Despite Cas’ commands and Dean’s eagerness to follow them they somehow ended up doing even worse the second round than they had the first, Dean failing to hit a single target on the opposite team. He was too busy focusing on the feeling of Cas’ arms wrapped around his torso (they had moved there at some point early on and remained there long after the imminent danger of being hit by an expertly placed shot from Ash had passed) to react properly to Cas’ sudden shout of “duck!” the two of them falling backwards as Cas tried to pull Dean out of the way. 

They hit the floor with a thud, Cas’ arms still wrapped protectively around Dean, bodies colliding as they landed. Dean could feel Cas’ chest heaving with laughter against his back as they lay collapsed on the floor, legs tangled around each other. Dean tried to laugh too but it got caught in his throat on the way out, his brain still too muddled with arousal to process much else besides the feel of Cas beside him. 

Cas continued to laugh as he untangled himself from Dean, pulling them both upright once their limbs were free. He grinned, something like euphoria coursing through his veins as he looked over at Dean who was pulling the goggles off. The smile quickly faded from his lips as he took in the sight of Dean’s face, tinged pink with arousal, lust painted plainly across his features and eyes blown wide with desire. Cas swallowed hard as Dean’s lips parted in a slight pant, and he could feel heat crawling up his neck as Dean stared at him, darting his tongue out to lick at suddenly dry lips. Apparently taking matters into his own hands had worked out far better than he’d anticipated.

The world came crashing suddenly back, the sounds of thunderous footfalls breaking through the haze in Cas’ head as he looked around at his teammates whom he’d temporarily forgotten existed. Multicoloured blurs zipped past his head and the sudden realization that they were sitting in the middle of a dodgeball game, one where half the players were stumbling around blindly, caused Cas to jump to his feet. He saw Dean shake his head minutely and then gaze up at him stupidly, apparently still caught in a lust induced stupor. Cas reached down and hauled Dean to his feet, pulling him over to the side of the gym where they wouldn’t get trampled, dropping down heavily onto one of the benches along the wall. 

Dean sat down next to him, a little closer than normal perhaps, but everyone else was too preoccupied with the game to notice. Dean concentrated on getting his breathing under control and tried not to think about the heat he could feel rolling of the body next to him. Despite the fact that he’s always known he was a little gay (ok, more than a little if he was being completely honest with himself) he could feel a small pool of dread beginning to form in his stomach as the realization of what had just occurred began to settle in his brain. Now really wasn’t the time to be having a gay crisis. 

He jumped slightly, startled by the feeling of fingers on his own but then relaxed as he looked over at Cas and saw nothing but reassurance in his bright blue eyes. Dean drew in a slow, deep breath and by the time he let it out the doubt was gone from his mind, the pool of anxiety draining out of his stomach. He swallowed and nodded slightly, the look in Cas’ eyes changing suddenly from gentle reassurances to something that made Dean’s heart start beating faster. A look of understanding passed between them and suddenly practice couldn’t be over fast enough.

...

The elevator doors slid open, letting two more of their teammates out at the third floor, Dean and Cas squished next to each other near the back wall, fingers brushing over each other where they rested on the handrail. The elevator made its way slowly upwards, letting out more people as it climbed, Dean’s blood pressure rising with it, until they were the last ones left in the small metal box. Fate had gifted Castiel with a room on the top floor at the end of the hall, Dean’s a few doors down from it, so no one suspected anything untoward when they were left alone in the elevator. Dean swallowed, trying to subdue the ball of nerves that was threatening to climb out his throat, watching the numbers above the door increase. The fear must have shown in his eyes because he felt Cas’ fingers tighten reassuringly on his.

“It’s ok Dean. We don’t have to do this,” Cas said, voice low and gentle. 

Dean turned to look at him and saw the concern wrinkling Cas’ brow. The blue of his eyes was open and honest, reflecting something Dean couldn’t identify. He swallowed again and the butterflies whipping around in his stomach calmed down a little, fluttering somewhat more softly in his gut. 

“No,” he said, voice cracking a little, “no, I – I want to,” he finished somewhat lamely, turning his face away from Cas’ enquiring gaze.

“We’ll take it slow ok,” Cas said, watching the blush crawl up the back of Dean’s neck as he looked at the floor, nodding his head silently.

The doors opened and they extracted themselves from the confining space, Dean's legs trembling slightly as they made their way down the hall, some kind of unspoken agreement leading them to Cas’ door. As Cas fished in his pocket for the key Dean took in a shaky breath and tried to steady himself. 

The light on the door handle turned green and Cas pushed it open, standing aside to let Dean pass. Dean threw a quick glance down the hall to make sure no one was watching and then he stepped inside, pausing nervously just inside the door, suddenly unsure what to do with himself.

Cas moved into the room beside him, letting the door swing closed, grabbing Deans hand and leading him further into the room. There was a distinct scent lingering in the air, something familiar with a touch of foreignness, hanging heavily in the room above the usual stink of cheap motel. Dean looked furtively into the trash can near the dresser, the crumpled up tissues confirming his suspicions. He swallowed, the image of Cas laid spread out on the bed, hand pumping furiously, crashed suddenly into his mind, sending a shock wave down his spine. His dick twitched in response and he glanced back at Cas, the nervous butterflies doing new tricks in his gut. Cas followed his gaze to the waste basket and chuckled under his breath. He could see the nervousness in Dean’s eyes but there was something else there as well, fighting for dominance in his expression.

“Relax Dean,” Cas said quietly, taking Deans hands in his own. “We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. I promise.”

Dean nodded wordlessly and Cas lead him towards the bed nearest the window, the other one hidden under a mess of Cas’ things, hockey gear spilling out of his duffle bag onto the floor. Cas seated himself on the edge of the mattress, Dean perching beside him, one leg tucked up under him so they were facing each other. There was a hunger in Dean’s eyes but the slight shaking of his sweaty palm in Cas’ hand spoke volumes and Cas ran his fingers over the back of his knuckles soothingly.

“You ever kiss a guy before?” Cas queried, watching Deans Adam’s apple bob. Dean shook his head and darted his tongue out to lick unconsciously at his lower lip. Cas followed the movement, the thrill of knowing they were actually going to do this coursing across his skin. 

“Well then, we’ll have to remedy that won’t we,” he said, letting go of one of Dean’s hands to bring his own up to Deans cheek. A fleeting look of panic crossed Dean’s features and Cas shushed him quietly, rubbing his thumb across the smattering of freckles along one cheekbone. 

“Just relax,” Cas hushed, bringing his face in close to Deans. He saw the emerald eyes fall shut in anticipation and closed his own, the hand in his lap squeezing slightly as he closed the distance between their lips. The first press was chaste but Dean sucked in sharp breath, his lips parting slightly as Cas pulled back a half inch, judging Dean’s reaction. There didn’t seem to be any immediate threat so Cas leant back in, pressing his lips lightly to Deans. They were soft against his own and after a few moments Dean was kissing back. The kiss remained light and Deans empty hand reached up and tangled itself in the front of Cas’ t-shirt. He smoothed his fingers down over Cas’ chest and sucked in another sharp breath as Cas deepened the kiss, his tongue reaching out to lick over Dean’s bottom lip. Cas pulled back slightly, hot air ghosting over Deans mouth. 

“You ok?” he asked, voice low and gravelly. 

Dean nodded his head wildly, trying to follow Cas’ lips across the sudden chasm that had bloomed between their mouths. 

“Speak up,” Cas said, the authoritative tone from earlier back in his voice. Something stirred in Deans gut and his dick twitched again.

“Yes,” he breathed, cracking his eyes to find Cas’ open and staring at him hungrily. 

“Good boy,” Cas replied, and a sound that was most definitely _not_ a whimper escaped Dean’s throat. 

Cas crashed their lips back together, the chasteness gone, replaced by a commanding presence that Dean fell hopelessly into. The hand on his cheek moved around to the back of his head and Dean felt Cas card his fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly. Another flicker of fear passed through Dean at the contact but he squashed it down, reminding himself that this was Cas and that he was in good hands. If he was going to explore his gay side, which, before Cas, he had only ever allowed himself to think about when he was too far gone in the throes of passion to care, than better he do it with someone who would make sure he felt safe and comfortable. The thought helped stem the tide of fear coursing through his veins but it didn’t stop the butterflies from zinging around in his stomach. 

Kissing Cas was nothing like kissing any of the girls he’d ever been with. The macho façade he usually put on, combined with the fact that most of the girls he’d slept with knew damn well they were one night stands, had led to a severe lack of emotionally charged kisses in Dean’s book. Sure there had been heated kisses here and there, usually occurring near the peak of someone’s climax, but _this_ kind of kissing had always seemed too intimate to Dean, the kind of stuff reserved for chick flicks and old black and white movies where the guy _always_ got the girl. The closest thing to this that Dean could remember from his own experience had occurred ages ago, when he’d gotten his first real girlfriend, but the intensity had never been anywhere near what it was now. 

Feeling suddenly bold, egged on by the hand running through his hair and the soft slide of Cas’ tongue along his bottom lip, Dean threw caution to the wind and opened his mouth, letting his tongue meet Castiels along the seam where their mouths were joined. Cas moaned, a quiet appreciative sound, and sucked Dean’s tongue into his mouth, letting Dean take charge for the moment to help work up his confidence. It certainly seemed to be working, Deans tongue running along the roof of his mouth and teasing at the sensitive corners of his lips. His kisses were somewhat sloppy but Cas didn’t mind, revelling in the feeling of Dean’s mouth against his own and the knowledge that this was Dean Winchester he was kissing.

Cas toed his shoes and socks off, feeling Dean do the same, and drew his legs up onto the bed. He let Dean set the pace, allowing his tongue to slide experimentally around his mouth, sucking and tasting, until Dean started to get a little too cocky, his hands running up and down Cas’ back, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. Cas wasn’t having that and Dean suddenly found himself lying flat on his back, head cradled against the pillows, Cas looming over him as their mouths separated with a vulgar smack. Dean opened his eyes in surprise and found Cas smirking down at him. 

“I thought we’d agreed to take things slow Dean,” Cas said, a wicked edge to the gravel in his voice. 

Dean became abruptly aware of the tightness in his jeans as Cas lowered his hands to the mattress on either side of his head. He’d been too preoccupied with his exploration of Cas’ mouth to notice his steadily growing erection but his brain caught up suddenly with his body as they started at each other and he found himself wishing he hadn’t changed out of his shorts after practice, his jeans feeling several sizes too tight. Cas however hadn’t been so ignorant to his needs. He looked down the gap between their bodies as he hovered a few inches above Dean, smirking at the bulge that had blossomed between his legs. Looking back up he found Dean’s eyes blown wide with arousal, jaw clenched tight. 

“Do you trust me?” Cas asked, staring down into Dean’s eyes like he was trying to look beyond the irises into his very soul. 

Dean nodded his head and swallowed but Cas wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it Dean,” he ordered, “I need to hear you say it, otherwise we’re stopping. I promised you we wouldn’t do anything you weren’t absolutely sure about, so I need to hear you say you trust me.”

“I trust you,” Dean answered, his voice sounding breathy and far away to his own ears. 

“Good boy,” Cas repeated and another definite non-whimper escaped Dean’s throat. It turned into something much more substantial as Cas lowered his hips and ground against Dean’s own, dragging their cocks together through the denim. Dean tipped his head back against the pillow and moaned as Cas rutted against his cock, the most unmanly sound he’d ever made in his life flowing up into the air between them, Cas breathing it down hungrily. 

“God you’re beautiful,” Cas whispered, watching the flush rise up Dean’s neck, colouring his cheeks a light rosy pink. Dean whimpered again, some distant part of his brain rebelling against the term but letting it slide as Cas distracted him with the delicious friction between his legs. Cas shifted above him and got a leg between Deans, rubbing himself against the lean muscle of Dean’s thigh. Another moan tried to force its way past Deans lips as he raised his pelvis slightly to rut against Cas’ leg, but he managed to stifle it somewhat and it came out instead as a vaguely chocked sound from the back of his throat.

Cas shook his head and pushed his hips down more firmly against Dean. “No,” he said breathily, “don’t do that. I want to hear you.”

The part of Dean’s brain that had always been turned on by noisy girls suddenly decided to take over and he let a low cry escape his lips as he pressed back up into Cas, raising his hands to grab at the arms still framing his head. His nails bit into the skin of Cas’ forearm and Cas sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his lips to Deans in a searing kiss before pulling away and sitting back on his haunches. Dean, startled at the sudden movement, lifted his head and gazed at Cas imploringly. Cas was breathing heavily and the blush that Dean had stirred up so often before was painted across his features. 

“Are you _absolutely_ sure about this Dean?” Cas breathed, an edge of seriousness breaking through the lust on his face. 

“Yes,” Dean replied, unable to say much else, instead staring back into Cas’ eyes, trying to convince him that he really did want this, at the same time trying to convince _himself_ of the same thing. 

Despite the arousal coursing through his veins like wildfire, and the fact that his cock was very much interested, that nagging fear had resettled in the base of his skull. He’d spent so long trying to convince himself he wasn’t gay, that the feelings that sometimes crept up on him unexpectedly were just residual left-overs from his intense, albeit very short-lived dive into homosexual territory in the early years of his adolescence, that he wasn’t really sure what to do with them all now that they were so out in the open.

Sam had been nagging him for days to take him to the bookstore and Dean had finally given in, stalking off to look at the magazines while Sammy went off in search of some book he’d been dying to get his grubby little hands on. The fact that his eye had been caught by the Playgirl magazine instead of the Playboy on the shelf right next to it meant absolutely nothing. The fact that he’d glanced furtively around to make sure no one was watching before snapping it up in curiosity hadn’t meant anything either. Sam hadn’t said a word when he’d rematerialized suddenly at Dean’s side, clutching the book he’d been searching for in his hand, staring up at his big brother questioningly. Dean had snapped the ‘Full-Frontal Male Nude!’ centerfold shut guiltily before shoving it hastily back on the shelf and the fact that his jeans had felt suddenly tighter as he walked to the counter to pay for Sam’s book also definitely hadn’t meant _anything_. What _had_ meant something, and which had tainted every dirty thought he’d had for years afterwards, was the fact that John had found the stolen magazine rolled up in the bottom of his sock drawer one day a few weeks later. He could still feel the bruises if he concentrated hard enough, could still hear the words “freak” and “faggot” ringing in his ears sometimes when he closed his eyes. 

All this passed through his mind as he looked up at Cas who was still straddling his hips, the look of seriousness shining out from his startling blue eyes. And then, quite suddenly, Dean decided it didn’t matter. Fuck his father and his archaic notions. Dean had never wanted anything more in his entire life than he did at this very moment, looking back at the man he’d come to know better and better over the last few months. Cas continued to look at him, tipping his head slightly to one side, evidently watching the emotions chase their way across Dean’s face. 

“Yes Cas,” he said finally, “I’m sure.” 

Cas consider him for a moment, trying to decide if Dean was telling the truth or not, a chivalrous thought about not wanting to take advantage passing through his mind. 

“I’m sure,” Dean repeated, and Cas saw a sudden determination light behind Dean’s eyes, emerald irises blazing as he nodded his head minutely.

That was really all the confirmation Cas needed and he wasted no more time in pulling his shirt up and off, ruffling his hair in the process, flinging the shirt onto the pile of hockey equipment laying on the unoccupied bed. Dean sat up as far as Cas’ close proximity would allow and Cas helped him make quick work of his shirt too. Dean leant back into the pillows, the commanding tone reappearing in Cas’ voice as he sat back and raked his eyes over Dean’s naked chest. 

“You gonna be a good boy for me Dean?” Cas asked, gazing at Dean through lust hooded eyes. 

“Yes,” Dean replied immediately, the fire in his belly taking on a more intense note now that he’d decided to give into the desires chasing themselves around his head.

“And you’re not gonna hold back?” Cas continued. “Not gonna try and stop the pretty little noises that want to escape?” 

He trailed his fingers lightly down Dean’s torso, the touch like feathers against Dean’s skin. Dean gasped at the feeling and wriggled around on the covers a little, trying to increase the contact of Cas’ fingers on his skin. 

“No,” he breathed, noting the hint of whining that accompanied the breath on it's way out his mouth. 

“Good,” Cas said, diving forward to sear their mouths together in a kiss that sparked like lightning. 

Cas sat back again, making quick work of Dean’s belt and popping open the button on his jeans before unzipping them with a fluid motion. He worked his own belt off and flung his pants gracelessly over the side of the bed before turning back to Deans, sending the second pair of denim to a similar fate, belt buckle rattling as it hit the floor. 

Dean felt the pressure in his groin lessen somewhat as his cock was released from the tight confines of his jeans as they went sailing across the room, his cock straining instead at material of his boxers. The cool air of the room hit his bare legs and he curled his toes against the coverlet on the bed. He made a small noise in the back of his throat as Cas reached down and placed a hand on his dick. Cas looked up at him warningly and Dean let the sound out, a thrill rushing across his skin as he moaned long and loud. 

“Good boy,” Cas praised, leaning forward to lick an approving stripe up Dean’s chest, right between his nipples. 

Dean whimpered a little as Cas squeezed and tugged gently at his cock, moving his mouth over slightly to lick over Dean’s nipple, sucking it into his mouth and

“Fuck!” Dean cried out, his torso coming up off the bed as Cas scrapped his teeth lightly over the sensitive nub between his lips. Cas hummed appreciatively against Dean’s skin, the noises the man beneath him was making driving his hips forward in a slow fuck of the air, arousal pumping through his body as he reached down to touch himself with the hand that wasn’t fondling Dean through the now wet material of his shorts. 

Dean writhed a little on the bed, the feel of Cas’ hand on him, combined with the knowledge that Cas was also touching himself , making Dean’s head swim. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the pillows, panting slightly, Cas’ mouth coming back up to his to suck a moan from his lips. 

He felt Cas’ tongue slip into his mouth as his hand slid into his boxers, wrapping around his cock with a firm, commanding pressure. Dean yelped and Cas bit lightly at his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth as he slid his hand up and down along the shaft a few times, experimenting with varying speeds and pressures until he found the one that made Dean buck up into his fist.

Cas nipped and kissed along Dean’s jaw, moving his mouth up until it was flush with Dean’s ear, hushing praise along the sensitive skin, making Dean shiver.

“You’re doing so good Baby,” Cas whispered breathlessly, the pet name slipping out accidentally. He almost apologised but Dean cut him off, throwing his arms around Cas’ back and pulling him down flush against his chest. Cas ground his throbbing cock against Dean’s thigh a few times, a moan escaping his own lips as Dean continued to pant against his shoulder. 

He extracted himself from Dean’s vice-like grip and propelled himself down Dean’s body, pulling the damp boxers down and off as he went. Dean’s cock bobbed as it came free of the shorts, wound so tight with arousal that it curved up against his belly, pre-cum leaking out and leaving a sticky spot on his skin. Cas growled hungrily as he drank in the sight, the smell of dick wafting up through the air, making his mouth salivate. He wasted no time in getting it into his mouth, Dean jackknifing up off the bed.

“Fuck!” he yelled, hands fisting into the sheets as Cas sealed his lips around the shaft and sucked like there was no tomorrow. He bobbed his head up and down, running his tongue along the underside and then swirling it around the tip before flattening it and licking a long, clean swipe along the head, pulling off with an obscene pop.

Dean forced his eyes open, the tension between his brows relaxing some as he stopped squeezing them shut, releasing the lip he hadn’t realised he’d been biting. He raised his head slightly off the pillow and looked down the length of his body to where Cas was laid out between his thighs, legs dangling off the end of the bed, slowly grinding his hips against the mattress. 

“Ah shit Cas,” Dean breathed, pulling his lower lip back into his mouth and biting down hard. Cas grinned a small, wicked smile, bringing his hand up to work Dean's cock a few times, dragging his hips along the bed in a slow fuck. 

“Jesus,” Dean moaned, watching with reverence as his cock disappeared back into the wet heat of Cas’ mouth. He tipped his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes momentarily in bliss, only to have them fly open in shock a few moments later as a slick finger pressed unexpectedly at his entrance. He gasped, and when had the bastard managed to get his finger wet, Dean wondered vaguely, staring down at Cas, wide-eyed and panting.

Cas hovered his finger at the rim and gazed back at Dean, applying a slight pressure but not pushing in, demanding an answer from Dean with his eyes. 

Dean swallowed and his dick throbbed in Cas’ mouth. A sudden surge of respect for the man between his thighs flooded his mind, cutting through some of the fog in his brain. The fact that Cas was hovering at the edge, silently asking permission to ensure he wasn’t going to push any boundaries Dean didn’t want to cross, made Dean’s heart swell with something akin to love. The amount of trust he felt for Cas in that moment was startling. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and nodded. He saw the understanding and relief in Cas’ eyes and then the world went black as he forced his eyes shut, Cas’ finger sliding past the tight pucker of skin into his ass. 

Dean had tried fingering himself a few times before, when the usual hand-on-dick action wasn’t quite enough and he was feeling adventurous, his orgasms always way more intense than normal when he did, despite the slight awkwardness of the position, so the feeling wasn’t totally foreign. (He’d even toyed with the idea of buying a dildo for a while, but had never been able to work up the courage.) The feeling of Cas’ finger sliding slowly in and out however, combined with the heat and suction of Cas’ mouth on his dick, was way more intense than anything Dean had ever thought possible. He choked out some kind of sobbing moan and then forced himself to relax, breathing deeply through his nose as the finger, and then a second, worked themselves in and out, the tension in his muscles easing gradually as Cas continued to stroke him closer and closer to climax. 

He could feel the heat coiling low in his belly, his balls drawn up tight, and Dean knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, flashes of light dancing behind his eyelids. Cas increased the pace of his fingers, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard at Dean’s throbbing cock, rubbing himself frantically against the mattress in time with the movements of his tongue. He plunged his fingers in deeper, crooking them slightly to hit Dean’s prostate and then Dean was crying out, pulsing heavily into his mouth. 

“Ah fuuuck!” Dean yelled, his upper body leaving the bed entirely as he bucked up uncontrollably into Cas’ mouth, hand coming to the back of Cas' head as sparks of white hot pleasure surging down his spine and erupting out his dick, shooting down Cas’ throat. 

Cas worked him through his climax, licking up everything Dean gave him and then pulling off and swallowing, audibly. Dean lay back against the pillows, arm thrown up over his eyes, panting as he came down from his hight, waves of relaxation crashed over his body like surf on a beach. He could feel the mattress moving slightly beneath him as Cas fucked himself against the covers. There was a soft cry that sounded suspiciously like Dean’s name from somewhere near his abdomen and then Cas stilled, his own orgasm rocking through him. 

Cas rested his head against Dean’s thigh as his breathing gradually returned to normal. He rolled over some and looked down at the sticky mess between his legs, groaning slightly with the realization that he’d come in his boxers like a horny teenager. He turned back over and crawled his way up the bed, pressing his mouth to Dean’s when he made it to the top, collapsing half on the bed and half on Dean. Dean parted his lips and Cas pushed his tongue inside almost shyly. The taste of Cas’ tongue on his own was slightly different now and it took Dean’s satiated mind a moment or two to realise that he was tasting himself on Cas’ lips.

Dean reached over and pulled Cas into his arms, wrapping them around Cas’ back and tugging him close, Cas nuzzling his face into the crook of Dean’s neck as he shifted closer. The two of them lay there for a while, just breathing, until a quiet chuckle escaped Dean’s throat.

“What?” Cas asked, oncoming sleep evident in his tone as he inclined his head slightly upwards in Dean’s direction.

“Nothing,” Dean replied, chucking again, “I was just thinking that this probably wasn’t what Bobby had in mind when he said he wanted us to work on trust building.”

Cas smiled lightly against his skin and huffed out a breathy laugh, the two drifting off into a contented sleep, wrapped in the knowledge that, for the moment at least, all was right with the world. 

Fin


End file.
